definitely some extra chocolate chips in this smart cookie.
Finally, she leaned back, staring at nothing in particular. He could all but hear her mind humming as she processed the briefing. He didn’t disturb her. Besides, it gave him a chance to study Kat more closely.
She had small ears. Her fingernails were almond shaped, done in one of those pink-and-white manicures. Her skin was satin smooth, noticeably devoid of body hair. The veins in her hands and neck, faintly visible beneath the transparency of her skin were well-defined for a woman’s. Runner’s veins.
After the past few hours, he was rapidly coming to the conclusion that she was exactly who and what she said she was. He didn’t know whether to be dismayed, appalled, or impressed to death that a woman had managed to breach the testosterone fortress of Special Ops.
“You hungry?” he blurted.
She blinked, called back from wherever her thoughts had taken her. “Umm, yes. I guess so.”
“Let’s go topside. I know a little place on the beach…under the palm trees, drippy candles…the best seafood you ever tasted.”
Was that alarm flickering through her gaze? She was so damn hard to read.
She said quietly, “I didn’t know we could go to the surface.”
“Most of the staff is assigned two-week periods yearly to go topside and act like tourists visiting the island. A few staff members get to pose as people living here, and they can go topside anytime they want.”
“Which are you?”
“I’m in the first week of a two-week ‘vacation’ to the island. I can go up anytime I like. Because you’re only here temporarily, you can go up, too.”
“Well, then, I guess we’re having dinner at your little place on the beach.”
Hot damn. And he hadn’t even had to let her take him down to get her to agree.
Chapter 3
Jeff hadn’t exaggerated the romantic atmosphere of this place. Kat couldn’t help but relax and enjoy the ambience of the beachside restaurant. Their table sat under a private tent on the sand. White gauze curtains fluttered around them, and the sounds of silverware on china and clinking glass blended with the rolling crash and retreat of the ocean only a few dozen yards away.
She had to admit he looked…amazing. He wore a charcoal turtleneck, its sleeves pushed up to reveal muscular, tanned forearms. He didn’t appear remotely dangerous, even though she knew him to be so. He was elegant. Urbane. Some chameleon.
Of course, he was probably thinking the same thing about her. The Medusas included girly clothes and makeup in their standard operating equipment. Sometimes their best disguise during a mission was to look as feminine and harmless as possible. Hey-sex worked. Get a target thinking about maneuvering you into the sack, and a pistol in your purse or a microphone down your bra was the last thing on his mind.
Tonight she wore a plum silk dress with a high hem and a low neck. Spaghetti straps held up the whisper-soft fabric.
“This spot is beautiful.” She sighed appreciatively.
Jeff smiled. “I’m glad you approve. I thought it would be a good place for a beginning between us.” He picked up his wineglass. “A toast.”
Was he still hung up on that Cupid’s Bolt thing? Alarmed, she picked up her crystal stem.
“Here’s to a long and fruitful relationship between us,” he murmured.
Somehow, she didn’t think he was talking about catching the Ghost. She took a sip of the crisp Chardonnay he’d ordered for them and, setting down her glass, said, “Tell me about the stolen art.”
“It’s an interesting assortment. All the pieces are by masters. Various schools of art, though. A Holbein, a Turner, a Cezanne, a Brecht.”
“How valuable?”
He shrugged. “It’s hard to place a price tag on these high-end pieces unless you actually take them to auction and see what the collectors are willing to pay. But we’re talking two to ten million apiece.”
“Why haven’t these thefts been all over the news?”
“Shockingly enough, these aren’t particularly large thefts. Pieces worth a hundred million or more have been stolen. Those make the network news shows.”
“I can’t imagine any painting being worth that much,” she confessed.
“It’s all about covetousness. Having something famous and beautiful all to yourself. You get to look at it and nobody else.” He reached out to where her left hand lay on the white linen tablecloth and twined his fingertips with hers. His voice went low and husky. “It’s a lot like possessing a beautiful woman. Except a painting transcends time. People the world over, for decades or centuries, have coveted that piece, and now it’s yours.”
She replied wryly, “Plus, there’s the added advantage that a painting won’t get PMS and act bitchy or divorce you and take all your money.”
He chuckled and released her hand. “There is that.”
Odd. She was faintly disappointed that he’d let go. The feel of his fingers had been nice. “Personally, I’m not crazy about the notion of being possessed by some man.”
His smile ran as lazy as a river on a hot summer day. “Then the right man has never possessed you, darlin’. Don’t get me wrong. It’s not about owning another human being, body or soul. It’s about cherishing her. Savoring her, doing anything for her. Making her feel like the most special woman in the world.”
Wow. She’d never imagined any man might actually want to treat a woman like that, let alone imagined finding one for herself. Uncomfortable, she retorted lightly, “I dunno. Sounds almost creepy.”
He gave her a reproachful look. “There’s no need to be evasive with me. If the idea of being loved that deeply scares you, you can tell me. I’ll still love you even if you have a human weakness or two under your superhero skin.”
She had to catch her jaw to keep it from sagging. First, she was stunned that he’d read her that well. Nobody ever saw past the impassive mask she’d been trained from earliest childhood to show the world. Second, he’d pegged her as superhero material? Granted, she’d tossed him around and employed an old ninja climbing trick, but he’d put his finger on her most closely guarded secret within a few hours of meeting her. She couldn’t count the number of times Hidoshi had told her through the years never, ever, to let anyone know what she was truly capable of. He’d warned over and over, “If you show them your skill, they will insist upon testing it.”
He was so right. She’d gotten distracted by Jeff’s sex appeal in the gym and let down her guard for an instant. A single, simple takedown of the man, and already he’d tested her reflexes twice more-once with a gun. She’d bet the men who’d seen her drop Jeff were just waiting for their chance to have a go at her, too.
As usual, Hidoshi’s advice was spot on. Too bad he’d never given her any advice on how to react to a gorgeous lunatic who was convinced she was destined to be his.
The rhythmic crash of the ocean gradually soothed her inner turmoil. As she neared the end of her scallops in cream sauce, she asked, “What do the stolen paintings have in common?”
“None of them are particularly famous, but they’re all excellently executed. Perhaps most notable is the fact that all of the pieces have been held by private collectors for most or all their existences.”
Kat frowned. “And that’s significant why?”
“Museums publish extensive catalogs and prints, and publicly display paintings. Which is to say, museum pieces are vastly more identifiable than privately held pieces.”
“Ergo, the privately held piece can be stolen and hung on a new owner’s wall with less chance of being recognized as a stolen work.”
“Exactly. If a shady collector wanted to flaunt his trophies, he’d need to acquire little-known pieces.”
“Is the thief stealing on behalf of a specific collector, or is he stealing pieces he can fence more easily because they’re less well-known?”
Jeff smiled broadly. “Well done. That is, indeed, the sixy-four-thousand-dollar question. For a newcomer to the art world, you’ve put your finger on the heart of the matter astoundingly quickly.”
“And you’re not a newcomer to it?” she asked in surprise.
